


Not-So Innocents Abroad

by Freebooter4Ever



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, Kabuki - Freeform, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, Western, an attempt at historical has been made, fast burn, i live for fluff and good feelings, lots of fluff, no homophobia in this historical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-03-11 05:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13517379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebooter4Ever/pseuds/Freebooter4Ever
Summary: An American cowboy in Japan gets a crush on a Kabuki actor who reveals himself to be a disgraced Samurai and together they cause a sensation in the pleasure district while trying to survive their respective troublesome pasts. Largely follows main overwatch plot/character points but morphed into a 1840s historical setting





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not historically accurate, more like historically inspired
> 
> Some maybe useful actual historical background info: The play Hanzo is performing is Sukeroku, google search his character Ikyû to see pics, basically an old man costume with red paint. Hanzo’s later role would be his Kabuki skin. Okuni was the founder of female Kabuki circa 1600s ish, a ‘shrine maiden’ who left her shrine to perform dramatic dances in a male samurai costume in the city, the shrine tried to get her to return but she kept sending letters back saying no thanks with lots of money in them, she retired before age 40 disappeared and is rumored to have married an artist. Truly dedicated Ninjas don't eat meat to reduce body odor for sneaking around. The roofs of Kabuki theaters were actually enclosed sometime in the 1700's. The pleasure district actually burned down and moved all over the city until finally put outside the city throughout the Edo period. Fights over who could take the actors home at night actually happened but usually on the street and were not sanctioned by the theater, this was also a lot more common prior to 1800's before government crackdown. Kabuki acting in the 1600-1800s was inherited through generations of actors dedicated to the art and training begun at a young age, so disgraced samurai Hanzo actually probably would have been a terrible actor/dancer in contrast, Jesse is just biased.
> 
> THANK YOU TO ILYEN AND DEMONSANDSUCH FOR EDITING!

**_New Years Day, Japan, 1840:_ **

This is not planned. All Jesse knows is one minute he’s thoroughly enjoying the day’s entertainment and the next he’s yellin’ something about a man’s mama, hopping over one of the little wooden rails that divide up the audience, and landing smack in the middle of a brawl. A brawl that doesn’t end until he’s at the top of the heap, holding onto someone’s leg, and grinning proudly in the direction of the stage.

Everyone seems a bit shocked by the outcome, most of all him.

The actor whom the fight started over is still standing a third of the way down the theater's promenade thing, looking scandalized. Nobody can pin this one on the foreigner though, for once Jesse did not start the fight. He merely joined in. And _only_ _after_ the Narrator of the play said something about the winner getting a night with the performer of their choice.

The Narrator repeats this verdict from where he stands on stage, his voice carrying easily over the audience now that everyone's gone dead silent. He then tilts his head to stare down expectantly at Jesse. The Narrator's movements are as artful as ever, as if this is all part of the play. Maybe it is, Jesse's got no clue about these things. But one thing is for sure, no one in this room expected someone unaccustomed to their customs to win.

Jesse uses this. He pretends to be momentarily caught off guard and the whole room waits while he ponders. He's interested for sure, but not in any of the usual, popular actors. Jesse doesn't know how everyone will react when he announces this.

"My choice, eh?" he asks, scratching his chin, and exaggerating his southern drawl just a bit, making every effort to appear as harmless as possible.

While he deliberates, someone in the crowd finds his hat and the old thing makes its way over to him passed from hand to hand. Jesse supposes his cowboy gear does stand out something awful, not hard to figure out who such a hat belongs to. He accepts it gratefully and rams the thing back on his head where it should be - whoever knocked it off is lucky Jesse wasn’t focused enough to register faces during the fight.

He wasn’t even paying enough attention to realize he was standing without his hat, despite usually feeling near naked if it's missing. He does an inventory check, and all the rest of him seems in place. This goddamn crush of his has got hold of him hard.

He settles the hat more firmly on his head and runs a hand along the brim, a cocky smirk on his face. The truth is, he knew from the minute he heard the word ‘contest’ whose hand he’d be fighting for. After all, there was only one man in the performance he’d been coming specifically to see multiple times in one week.

And that man is decidedly not making eye contact.

The actor is perched on a sort of cupola that’s built into the stage set, off in the corner, examining his fingernails. He looks bored. The exact opposite of the reaction Jesse might have been hoping for. Jesse suspects the man didn’t even  _ watch _ the fight. This actor is more reticent than the others, keeps to himself. Not exactly by choice, as far as Jesse can tell, but more because of a lack in demand. And the actor makes it very clear he does not care.

So this may be Jesse's only chance.

Jesse clears his throat. Not that he needed to, all eyes are still on him. The Narrator looks concerned, as if not quite sure the foreigner understands everything going on around him, or is maybe a little slow on the uptake. Which, yeah, Jesse probably doesn’t get everything; his grasp on Japanese culture ain’t too good yet even if he does understand the language thanks to his Japanese friend in the states. Though Genji was originally from an isolated province far outside the city, surrounded by nothing but farms, which gave Genji a bit of an accent which got passed to Jesse. Genji told Jesse not to worry, that when Jesse got to Edo, he’d easily acclimate and the accent would disappear. So far it hadn’t worked out that way. Jesse can still hear a subtle difference between his Japanese pronunciation and the locals. If course, it doesn’t bother him none, he’s accustomed to having an accent.

Besides, he’s only been here a little under a month.

“I pick Ikyû,” Jesse calls out, deliberately not looking at the man in question.

The dead silence of the room remains; both audience and performers waiting for an outcome more expected.

“What?” the Narrator asks bluntly, obviously perplexed.

“Ikyû,” Jesse coughs, worried he’s pronouncing it wrong. He finally looks over, feeling only a little guilty, and points.

Ikyû’s expression is frozen somewhere between a glare and stunned confusion.

Jesse’s isn’t the only head turned towards the actor. The audience once again waits with bated breath for a response. Ikyû glances at the Narrator briefly, before steeling his expression and giving a brief nod. With that, he disappears behind the cupola.

“Okay....” the Narrator trails off, still eyeing Jesse like Jesse’s got a few screws too loose.

Jesse crosses the audience pit - the crowd parts to let him through - and slides inside the door to backstage held open by another of the actors. Ikyû has yet to make a reappearance. Backstage is a confusing mess, painted sets, props, dressing rooms built on multiple levels with years and years of history behind it; more complicated than Jesse’s ever seen in the states. It unnerves him, as much as it fascinates him. Jesse was born on the open range - lived there all his life, where the only truly ancient history is in his mother’s stories, and the earth.

A different actor guides Jesse through the maze. Jesse will never find his way out of this. They ascend at least three flights of narrow stairs all in different sections of the theater before the actor pushes Jesse through a little door. The door is then closed softly, and Jesse takes his hat off, to be polite.

Ikyû sits at the opposite end of the tiny room, fiddling with a case. His beard is gone, but his full face of makeup remains. He looks a lot younger, without the beard, closer to Jesse's age and more the age Jesse thought he'd be. The man stops moving as soon as he senses Jesse’s presence, but does not look up.

“Howdy,” Jesse drawls lazily, trying to appear more confident than he feels.

Ikyû turns, and looks, disbelief written on his features.

Jesse smiles earnestly.

“They say you fought well,” Ikyû says, skeptical, “though nobody is sure how you managed that because your form was so sloppy. But they also say that you jumped into the fight so fast and enthusiastically, everyone assumed you wanted the prize more than anyone.” He pauses, waiting for confirmation of this.

Jesse nods, “That's right.”

“And yet you picked me,” Ikyû states blandly.

“I did.”

“All the other men and women in that brawl were fighting for the favor of our plethora of attractive  _ young _ actors, the most popular of which can command great riches for a night with him. And I...am the brooding, grumpy shadow lurking on the edges of the story who always plays either the villain or the snake with no attractive qualities whatsoever,” Ikyû continues in the same matter-of-fact manner. As if he is explaining something very simple and obvious.

“I’m aware.”

Ikyû scoffs, his mouth a wry smile, “Are two worded sentences all you can form in Japanese, cowboy?”

“No,” Jesse says simply, puffing his chest up.

This time Ikyû smiles despite himself, and gives Jesse a barely perceptible eyeroll.

Jesse winks, "And I beg to differ about that last part there. The bit about attractive qualities. Hate to tell ya you're wrong, but..."

Ikyû stands sharply, bracing himself as if ready to argue. Jesse holds out a hand to stop him.

"The other players are the broadly painted types, the jesters, the ones with a lot of big show," Jesse continues, "But you, you're the king."

"Were you not watching the play, cowboy?" Ikyû mutters.

"Well...yeah, okay. I  _ was _ kind of distracted whenever  _ you _ came on stage, but that's not the point," Jesse argues, "My point is..." he holds out his hand, "my name is Jesse Mccree, and it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The man seems taken aback by the switch in conversation. He looks distrustful at first, then wraps his hand around Jesse's. "Hanzo," he says.

"Hanzo," Jesse repeats, testing the pronunciation. He takes Hanzo's hand, gives it a good shake, and steps back.

"So," Hanzo says with a selfsure grin. He straightens his shoulders and stiffens his spine, "What is it you would like for your reward, Jesse Mccree?"

Jesse chuckles. "All I wanted was the chance to meet you. And now I've had it. And I'll get outta your hair," he says in one long breath. He turns to go. And then it's a quick hop to the door in such a small room.

"Wait," Hanzo darts forward. His fingers barely brush Jesse's bicep, but it's enough to make Jesse pause.

Jesse lets Hanzo swivel him around and push into his space. Hanzo reaches up to run a single finger along Jesse's beard, across Jesse's lips. He traces Jesse's nose and brow, and then buries his whole hand in Jesse's hair.

"What if I wanted to kiss you anyway?" Hanzo asks, low, guttural.

"Dare ya," Jesse says .

Hanzo yanks him down forcefully, crashes their lips together. Jesse drops his hat. It's all he can do to catch Hanzo and hold on. Hanzo is nearly falling into Jesse with how close their bodies are pressed together and how much weight Hanzo is leaning on him. After Hanzo's initial thirst is sated, the kiss turns softer, quieter, more explorative.

And then Jesse takes over. He breaks the kiss briefly and presses his lips to Hanzo's neck. Jesse leaves a trail of red marks from where Hanzo's red tinted lips rubbed off on Jesse's face. Jesse plants his feet, digs his hands under the top flap of Hanzo's costume to cup the actor's ass, and draws Hanzo in, encouraging him to lean even more on Jesse, until the shorter man is on his tiptoes, nearly lifted off the ground. Hanzo grins and captures Jesse's lips again.

Jesse hasn't had a proper kiss in a long time. Years, probably. Not like this anyway. Not the kind where they break apart for air briefly only to nuzzle and dive back in. He'd be happy to do this all night, given his legs last out. Though by the way he's shaking, that might not be too long.

Finally, Hanzo opens his eyes and leans back. Jesse continues to kiss his jaw, his ear. He nudges open Hanzo's loose shirt and buries his nose in Hanzo's collarbone. He breathes deep. Somehow, amazingly, Hanzo smells of nothing. Fresh air, the kind before snow. And in the cloisting perfumed pleasure district, it's like a relief. He sucks on Hanzo's skin there, and can feel Hanzo's chest heave against him. Though when Jesse pulls off, and smiles down at Hanzo with hooded eyes, there's a strange hint of blue on his shoulder, peeking out at Jesse from between the folds of Hanzo's shirt. A light grey blue, a pattern on skin, underneath the makeup, but not the color of a bruise. Jesse didn't think he had done enough to leave a mark. Had tried not to, anyway.

Hanzo tilts his head closer for one last little kiss, and then huffs, with a smile, "You’re very good at that." He sounds surprised.

Jesse's grin widens and he squeezes Hanzo's butt, lifting him closer, "How about I show you what else I'm good at?"

Hanzo makes the cutest little laugh. Jesse almost doesn't catch it. Hanzo tries to muffle the noise by pressing his face into jesse’s shoulder. But there's a rather hard, and large, bulge Jesse can feel pushed against the front of Jesse's pants. Hanzo doesn't seem bashful about that. Unless that's just the knot that holds Hanzo's clothes together.

For a minute Hanzo stays wrapped in Jesse's arms, his hands fisted tightly in Jesse’s shirt. Jesse, for his part simply enjoys the warmth and Hanzo’s obvious comfort.

"That joke practically made itself," Jesse murmurs in Hanzo's ear, making it clear he doesn't actually expect anything, "I couldn't resist."

"I still cannot believe....of all people," Hanzo says, "It was some foreign cowboy,  who won that fight."

"Can't rightly believe it myself," Jesse confesses.

Hanzo chuckles and leans back to look Jesse in the eye, "That hat you wear says Sheriff. What are you?"

"Exactly what it says," Jesse winks.

"But you fight horribly," Hanzo laughs.

"You were watching?" Jesse asks, eager.

"Unfortunately," Hanzo admits, "It was hard to look away. From you."

Jesse bites his lip, smiling stupidly and leaning in to bump his nose with Hanzo's.

"So is this what you wanted?" Hanzo asks, staring at Jesse's lips, "From the fight?"

Jesse catches Hanzo’s face in his hands, lets more space filter in between their bodies, "Mostly I just wanted to  _ see _ you. Without all this rigamarole and underneath that get up. The you I get hints at in the depths of those  _ pretty pretty eyes _ ."

Hanzo’s eyebrows shoot up, and he pushes away, unimpressed but still smiling, “Is that a line you use often?” He turns around and starts to untie various strings on his costume.

“Only used it once so far,” Jesse teases, his mouth suddenly dry, “But if you give me more reason to...”

“Get out” Hanzo interrupts, sounding completely unmoved.

Jesse’s face falls, “Ah. All right...” he stutters, caught off guard, “I apologize, I...”

But then Hanzo glances behind him, and Jesse can see the smile on his face and mischievous glint in his eye. “Get out, so I can change,” Hanzo says again, no less firm, but the effect is somewhat mitigated by the fact that he  _ looks _ ready to strip Jesse down as well.

Jesse nods, smiles, places his hat back on his head, and tips it. He backs out of the room, Hanzo’s eyes following him the whole way, and closes the door behind him.

“Meet me behind the theater in twenty minutes,” Hanzo orders before the door shuts.

As soon as he’s alone, Jesse releases his hold over his emotions and grins helplessly. He pumps his fist in excitement and nearly does a hop when he turns away from the door, only to freeze when he realizes half the cast is staring up at him. He channels his excess energy into lifting his hat, running his hand through his hair, and plopping it back down, hiding half his face beneath the brim. But he can’t hide his damned grin.

“Uh....any of you folk care to show me where the back entrance is?” he asks the group at large, his hand on the back of his neck, trying to cool the heat rushing to his face.

There’s laughter, and whispered snatches of conversation, and then everyone promptly disappears.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse laughs, “Embarrass the fish out of water some more. All in good fun. Good fun.”

Jesse gets lost. At first he makes an honest to god attempt to find his way. But random theater people keep stopping him to chat, as openly curious and entertained by him as he is them. And their short directions only guide him to the next hall, of which there are multitudes. Eventually a stagehand, no older than Jesse was when he first became an outlaw, leads Jesse through a final passage, so short Jesse has to crouch, and throws open a door to the street outside. Jesse stumbles out, tipping his hat in thanks.

“Finally,” a familiar voice says directly behind him, amused, “I thought you might have changed your mind. Found one of the beautiful ones instead.”

Jesse turns around. He doesn’t say anything, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even breathe, he simply pulls hanzo in and kisses him. "Huh, so your beard is black," Jesse screws his eyebrows up in concentration. He brushes his thumb across Hanzo's scratchy jaw, "and here I thought the red roots were natural."

Hanzo huffs, but smiles, and flicks his finger against the underside of Jesse’s hat, knocking it off his head and forcing Jesse to bend over and retrieve it. Which Jesse takes his sweet time to do.

"I'm hungry," Hanzo says admiringly.

"Lucky me," Jesse retorts.

"For real food," Hanzo rolls his eyes affectionately, "Come, cowboy, I know a place."


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> their romantic dinner is rudely interrupted by plot straight out of a kabuki play

Hanzo takes them to a small restaurant a couple blocks over. Jesse knows enough about local culture to know Hanzo isn't allowed to linger outside the pleasure district. Luckily all of the best food places are already here.

"Huh," Jesse sniffs as he steps inside, "Smells familiar."

"You've eaten here before?" Hanzo asks.

"Maybe robbed here before," Jesse teases.

"I hope not. This is my favorite place, I frequent it regularly," Hanzo still sounds suspicious, “Be a shame if they had to kick  _ you _ out.” Hanzo's tone of voice makes it clear he, at least, would be staying.

"Don't worry hon, I left those days behind me in the States," Jesse says, sliding his arm around Hanzo's waist and kissing his cheek. 

"What kind of a Sheriff were you?" Hanzo asks.

"The kind that had to get out of dodge fast," Jesse says. They're seated in an intimate enclosed area by a very enthusiastic server. Hanzo must be a well liked customer. 

"You never said, how did you learn Japanese?" Hanzo asks. 

"Friend. Guy I worked with stateside. He came to the Americas by way of Europe and Africa, believe it or not," Jesse explains, "Said it was a long journey but not nearly as long as his future in Japan." 

Hanzo laughs, "I understand the feeling." 

"How did you come to read English, if you don't mind my asking?" 

"My family did business internationally," Hanzo says calmly, "Before my father was killed." 

"I'm sorry..." 

"Don't be," Hanzo shrugs, "He probably deserved it."

Jesse changes the subject rather quickly. Brings it back around to himself, so he can tell Hanzo stories of the wild west. Hanzo seems to appreciate it all, but he remains fixated on Jesse's outfit. 

"If you are no longer a Sheriff, or a - how do I pronounce it? - bamf, why do you still wear the trappings of rank?" Hanzo asks.

Jesse goes quiet for a minute. He fiddles his lip between his teeth, "I wear it because in my job you gotta blend in, and where I was working, this is what blended." 

"You must not be working anymore," Hanzo quips. 

Jesse leans back against the privacy screen, crossing his arms behind his head, "Nope, I’m taking an extended break. Hit a big payday for once, decided to see as much of the world as I could for as long as the money lasts me." 

"That’s how you ended up in Japan?" 

Jesse nods, "I grew restless, cities started growing more crowded, more and more people, and so I went further west, and further west, till I hit the ocean. And then decided to just keep on going." 

"So why haven't you 'gone' again?" Hanzo asks with a knowing smirk. 

Jesse drops back into his seat and laughs, "You know, for someone who claims to be unnoticable, lurking in the shadows, you've got an awful lot of confidence in the power you hold over folks." 

Hanzo takes a deep and long sip of tea, his eyes freezing Jesse in his seat. "I've seen you at every play," Hanzo says, "As I said before, you stand out." 

"Been thinking 'bout that," Jesse says, "The play. You're wasted on those roles you take, hon. I reckon you're more of a Jûrô, than a Ikyû." 

Hanzo puts his cup down and stills. Silence falls, quiet and contemplative. After a minute he says, "So. I am the brother doomed to die avenging his father." 

"No," Jesse protests and takes Hanzo's hand across the table, "You're the cool headed, more refined brother. Softer, gentler, gallant,  _ real, _ " He pauses and mentally checks himself, "Wait a minute. Since when does the brother die at the end?"

"In another play," Hanzo explains. 

"Another play?" 

"The original story. There are many plays, many versions," Hanzo says, his eyes sad. 

Jesse squeezes his hand, and they sit until their food arrives. When it does, Jesse feels a bit like a barbarian with his five different kinds of meat floating in his bowl and his plate of cooked meat on a stick, compared to Hanzo's delicate plate of noodles. 

"Not much of a meat eater, huh?" Jesse asks.

"I would if I could," Hanzo says distractedly, putting the finishing touches on his noodles to his satisfaction. 

"What do you mean by  _ that  _ ?" Jesse asks, curious.

"I am a vegetarian. It eliminates body odor, a perpetual problem in my line of work," Hanzo replies. 

"All those thick costumes, huh?" Jesse asks. 

"Mmmm," Hanzo shrugs noncommittally, "Though if you were looking for some kind of innuendo as an answer, then, yes, Jesse, I'd love to get your meat in my mouth." 

Jesse chokes on his slice of eel, hacks it up, and it falls out of his mouth into his bowl. Now he really feels like a barbarian. But he sees Hanzo is laughing  _ with  _ him instead of  _ at  _ him. 

"As long as you reciprocate," Hanzo amends, eyeing Jesse. 

"Gladly, shug," Jesse coughs. He's about to say that he'll go down on his knees right here, if it wasn't a public place, and if he can find his way through all that fabric around Hanzo's waist, when an arrow - that is decidedly  _ not  _ cupid's - shoots his hat and pins it to the screen behind Jesse's head.

Hanzo dives across the table, lands next to Jesse, and shoves Jesse to his knees underneath the table. Jesse emits a strangled noise. Even lying down Jesse is quite a bit bigger than the space under the low table, so the thing lifts onto two legs. Hanzo ducks so his body is also covered by the table, and Jesse hears another 'thunk' as an arrow embeds itself into the wood. Hanzo's face is inches away from Jesse's. His eyes are wide with anger. 

"That instrument case I was carrying. It's on my seat. Twist the latch right, left, and down to open," Hanzo orders. 

Jesse follows. And discovers the most beautiful archery bow he has ever set eyes on.

"Acting ain’t your night job, is it?" Jesse comments mildly.

"No. And to answer your earlier question," Hanzo says when Jesse hands over the weapon, "I  _ am  _ in the shadows. But  _ you  _ are one of the few who bothers to look." 

And with that, Hanzo takes an arrow from the quiver Jesse offers, and returns fire. Jesse himself might've died and gone to heaven, cause suddenly he has the best damn view in the whole house. Arrow, after arrow, after arrow. And all Jesse has to do is lie there and look up at the impressive display of strength in front of him. Jesse counts fifteen until the quiver runs out. Hanzo curses. 

"This guy shootin’ at you...he one of the few who looks too?" Jesse asks, conversationally as another enemy arrow hits the table right above Jesse's head. It splinters the wood, and Jesse hastily moves.

"Men. Plural. Forty seven, unless I miss my guess. My past has finally caught up with me, though I have been neglectful of my quiver," Hanzo scowls, "I'm out of arrows, we must run." Hanzo hefts the table onto his shoulders and props it atop his seat to provide cover. He hauls Jesse to his feet and then vaults out the window.

Jesse takes his time. He drops a wad of money on the floor near the overturned table and nods to the server. Jesse's not too certain about the currency exchange rate still, so he always errs on the side of excess, especially when it comes to damage control. He tips his hat and walks to the window, clambering out, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.

He notices Hanzo across the street, waiting for him. Hanzo’s safe, having taken cover behind a wooden lattice. Jesse makes deliberate eye contact, and smiles. And lights a cigar. Just to see those pretty pretty eyes widen in concern.

"Naw, I ain't much for runnin," Jesse drawls, hands near his hips, feet planted in the middle of the street, "'sides, it's high noon."

"It is after midnight and still pitch black, you buffoon," Hanzo barks, "RUN." He leaves his own safety and tries to grab Jesse's arm but finds that he's tugging on a rock. Jesse stands heavily, facing their attackers, his head bent at a threatening angle. Hanzo immediately lets go and stares.

Time slows down for Jesse, and he politely steps outside of it’s stream, letting the rest of the world flow around him. It’s cold, and uncomfortable, like getting doused with a bucket of water. From somewhere above  an arrow slowly comes into view. Jesse calmly plucks it out of the air before it can embed into his skull. And presents it to Hanzo, like a gift. Jesse would laugh at Hanzo’s slow motion expression if he could. But Jesse has to be extra careful about every movement in this state, he’s running at a mile a minute compared to everyone else. One mistake, and he’s dead. Nonetheless, he can see the attackers now, after following the trajectory of the arrow they shot at him. Six ranged across the rooftops, and six cowering in windowless buildings with little more than a slot to shoot from. Too bad for them Jesse’s type of bullets can cut through wood. 

"Draw," Jesse's hand moves faster than a blink. And in the same time span, the twelve enemies visible drop dead. Deed done, Jesse nearly slumps and Hanzo takes his arm again in support. There are shouts, and hurried footsteps, as the hidden backup assassins disappear into the night. Belatedly Hanzo reloads the enemy arrow into his own bow and fires at their retreating backs, but he misses.

"Jesse, we must go," Hanzo tugs desperately.

Jesse follows wordlessly, climbing the storefront and flying with Hanzo over rooftops. 

They don't speak until they are dropping down onto a third story balcony and stepping into a pleasantly open room.

"Where are we?" Jesse asks, admiringly.

"My home," Hanzo says, taking the instrument case off his back, slinging it to the floor, and opening it. He begins his usual check and cleaning of his weapon.

"Hmmm," Jesse hums, "Well, it's much nicer than the place I've got let, and honestly I don't think I could find my way back here if I tried, wouldn't recognize anything besides the rooftops...but, isn't this a little...uneasy?"

"You're compromised," Hanzo states, not looking up from his task, "You've been seen with me, and you stand out like a sore thumb for all of your supposed ability to 'blend'." Hanzo pauses, letting his judgement sink in, "Within hours, if not already, everyone in this city will know exactly where the cowboy sleeps most nights, and I promise you, if you return there, more attackers will be waiting. To get to you, to get to me. I am sorry, but you must stay here for at least a night."

Jesse whistles, "Well then." He hesitates, more words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them and instead takes a seat, making himself at home. He watches Hanzo finish loading new arrows into his quiver and relatching the case neatly. 

Hanzo hovers over the case for a brief minute, his hands calm. "Would you," Hanzo holds his breath "...like any tea?"

"Much obliged, if you don't mind," Jesse winks.

Jesse receives another characteristic Hanzo eye roll before the archer gets up to make tea.

“Ya aren’t gonna ask how I did that?” Jesse scratches his neck.

“Did what?” Hanzo replies.

“The killin’ all those men at once, thing,” Jesse twirls his hand in a vague motion. 

“I never doubted your abilities in combat. Your confidence is far too exaggerated to come from a man who has not seen battle,” Hanzo explains, “Plus...I’ve seen stranger things.”

“Yeah I had to watch Sukeroku’s improvisation with the sake seller in today’s third act too,” Jesse commiserates, “Just how many men  _ can  _ he fit between his legs, huh?" 

Hanzo laughs, “Not enough, if you ask the actor’s multitude of fans.”

"Speaking of being between a man's legs…." Jesse asks as the water is heating, “where’ll I be sleeping?”

Hanzo stops short, "I...hadn't thought...." he trails off, obviously trying to make up for the deficit by thinking hard now. A blush colors his cheeks.

"I must say," Jesse adds softly, "I know I ain't rich. I can't offer you anything other than myself. And I've seen how well other actors are taken care of here. But I'd been kinda hoping, when you brought me here, that  _ you  _ were hopin' to get me into bed. You know, in a...reserved...grumpy...shy, maybe shadowy, kinda way." - Hanzo  _ Looks  _ at him, sternly -  Jesse refuses to be chastised and smiles back, "Just sayin, I'd be open to it." Jesse leans back, resting easily, legs spread, arms lounging behind his head, chin tipped back. Every muscle in his body is lax, and Jesse hopes Hanzo will take the hint and come to him.

Hanzo does.

The kiss is heated, and messy, and to be honest Jesse doesn't quite know what to do with himself now that he's got Hanzo on top of him and his hands in Hanzo's hair. He didn't expect to get this far. Until Hanzo breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against Jesse's and stares straight into his eyes.

"Jesse," Hanzo says, low.

 

"Yeah?" Jesse breathes back.

 

"Would you, please, come to bed with me?"

 

Jesse grins, his entire body fizzing with energy, "I will."

 

So they do.

In the morning, Jesse finds himself still clinging to hanzo. Hanzo is fast asleep, snoring deeply, sprawled elegantly across the bed. Jesse fits in the cracks between, legs tangled with Hanzo’s, his head on Hanzo’s chest. He trails his hand up and down Hanzo’s tattoo, half hoping his lover will wake up.

A slow, confident smile spreads across Hanzo’s face and is the only warning Jesse gets before Hanzo flips them lazily and pins Jesse to the bed. Hanzo stretches languidly, his body rubbing against Jesse’s skin. And Jesse, unable to move but very happy about it, lies there to watch. Hanzo finally opens his eyes, and they stare at each other with mutual satisfaction and a tiny bit of surprise.

“Good morning,” Hanzo says.

"Mornin'," Jesse grins, he wiggles underneath Hanzo’s weight, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. They might be here for a while, if he has his way. He clears his throat, "All right, I didn’t ask last night because...well...things got heated before I could. But now?...I want answers," Jesse pauses, "What is it...you do...exactly, sweetheart?" 

Hanzo visibly deflates and he melts into Jesse, burying his face in Jesse’s rather hairy armpit.

"That can’t smell too good in there, darlin," Jesse points out, "Lotta meat went into my mouth last night." 

Hanzo groans. 

"I’ve seen the tattoo," Jesse continues reassuringly, "I ain't stupid" - Hanzo interrupts to lift his head, prop his chin on Jesse’s right pectoral, and give Jesse a skeptical look - Jesse returns the look in spades, "I  _ ain't  _ . So whatever I just got involved in, I’m gonna need to know. Not complainin', I jumped into this with enthusiasm. Just help me understand a little." Jesse brushes his hand through Hanzo’s thick hair, arranging it in tufts so its splayed across Jesse’s chest.

Hanzo sighs, and closes his eyes, lying on top of Jesse like a dead weight. It’s the most comfortable Jesse’s been in years.

“I’m an assassin,” Hanzo drops the revelation like a cowpie.

Jesse continues petting Hanzo's hair.

“Well, that's...” Jesse starts, “that's...somethin'."

Hanzo chuckles, "I was trained from birth. Supposed to take over leadership of our clan when I came of age."

"Certainly explains your regal bearing," Jesse says, picking out the one part of this that he had already figured.

"Nothing regal about leading a secret clan of assassins," Hanzo mumbles, "Nor being an outcast stuck in the pleasure district."

"Yeah, how'd that happen?" Jesse asks, "No offense, but acting doesn't seem like your choice."

" _ Acting  _ , is easier than prostitution," Hanzo says, "I am not social. I play the parts no one else wants. They pay me. I do not have to talk to anyone I don't want to."

"Except me, huh," Jesse chuckles.

Hanzo takes a deep breath in, slides down Jesse's body, and kisses his stomach, "I  _ wanted _ to talk to you."

"Glad to hear that confirmed," Jesse sits up and stops Hanzo from sliding further, "But you gotta talk to me  _ now  _ . No distractions."

"You're very distracting," Hanzo straddles Jesse's waist and aims for kissing his neck instead.

"Very flatterin, darlin, but Hanzo," Jesse captures Hanzo's face in his hands, "You're not telling me something. There's a reason you get that flash of guilt whenever I lavish you with compliments."

Hanzo breathes. "Because I am an assassin, and a samurai, in disgrace," Hanzo says, and gets off Jesse's lap. He slips on a robe, ties the waist, and the regal bearing is back.

"See, I was hoping we could have this conversation here," Jesse says, "Where you're relaxed and happy, and looking like you'd be way more open."

"I am relaxed, and happy, but hungry," Hanzo says, "You alone are not nearly enough to sustain my appetite." He pads into the other room.

"That an insult?" Jesse asks, scrambling to his feet and following. He doesn't bother with clothes. In the greatroom, Hanzo is smiling over his meal preparation.

It wasn't an insult. Jesse sprawls on the nearest seat with his legs apart comfortably, feeling confident, to watch Hanzo cook.

As they eat, Hanzo tells him the truth. His father was killed by a samurai in dishonorable combat. The samurai was weakened, sick, and he cheated in order to win. Hanzo doesn't elaborate on how. But he says that as a result he and his brother knew they would be expected to carry out revenge for their father’s death. Unfortunately, Hanzo also knew that his father, in a mission held secret even from their clan, had destroyed that same samurai's livelihood and brought about the very downfall that required the samurai to cheat. Hanzo's brother had not known this. Hanzo's brother had loved their father. 

"My brother was deliberately kept ignorant. In everything," Hanzo says bitterly, "It is expensive, and time consuming to train an assassin, even more so for one who will lead the clan. My brother never showed enough aptitude, except in fighting. There were many others in the village who made the cut long before him. And I think my father enjoyed watching my brother have the freedom he had been denied himself." 

And been denied Hanzo, Jesse picks up on the unsaid portion of that statement. Hanzo goes on to explain how his brother was eager to avenge their father, and in his eagerness got sloppy. He made mistakes that compromised both brothers.

" _ I  _ was supposed to be the one to die," Hanzo says harshly, "As the eldest, that is my duty. But, it went awry somehow, and my brother ended up dead. I...did not care enough to stay and finish the job. The samurai who killed my father was a good man, with a family. I let the samurai live, and fled myself." Hanzo takes a deep breath, his voice shaking, "Now I am nothing but a bad investment to my clan, biding my time until the clan finds me and reaps what they are owed. There's forty seven of them who are active, over two thirds of which I've trained. Because of me the family has lost it's honor, and through me they will restore it."

"Then why did you fight back?" Jesse asks, “That night at the restaurant. Why not just let an arrow hit you?”

" _ You  _ were there," Hanzo makes deliberate eye contact, "I will not let them kill another innocent. I no longer do that job."

Jesse snorts, "Hardly innocent. Honestly, sweetheart, I probably deserve death even more than you. But," Jesse cracks his knuckles and smirks, "I never turn down a chance to rock the boat, so to speak. So. If you'll have me, and if it means it'll give you some sense of self-preservation while also gettin your relatives' panties in a twist, I'll stay here. With you. Till it's done."

Hanzo stares blankly, considering Jesse's offer. "First, I should admit, my relatives 'panties' as you call it, are already in a twist. So there is no need for you to exert yourself. And second..." he swallows, "Knowing the truth, do you honestly still believe I am gentle? Gallant? Soft?" 

It breaks Jesse’s heart a bit, to hear his own words used against him. "Hanzo," Jesse breathes, "Making love to you was the most sensual experience of my life," the words tumble out of Jesse's mouth before he can stop them, "You were careful, perceptive. You sensed my emotions, my hesitations, my pleasure, before I even knew it myself. Honey, even if that was the only side of your personality I had to go off of I..."

He can't continue because Hanzo's mouth is on his, and Jesse's tongue is somewhere in the vicinity of Hanzo's tonsils, and they don't even make it back to the other room before Hanzo's robe comes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!!!!! \o/ still begging for feedback over here, like it? love it? hate it? historical corrections? I'm a huge nerd so I did wayyyy too much research for this but at the same time theres only so much quality info you can find on the internet. Also Japanese traditional underwear that samurai wore is amazing if you havent already googled it.


	3. Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A challenger approaches

Hanzo keeps Jesse in his house for the full day.

 

"It's dark day," Hanzo explains when Jesse asks if he has a job to go to. Which explains exactly nothing.

 

"I confess," Jesse replies with a grin, "Before, I was wonderin' about whether I'd ever be allowed  _ in  _ your bed, but now, darlin, I'm wondering if I'm ever gonna get out of it."

 

They only leave the bed to eat, and even that only happens twice. But on the second morning Jesse wakes up to darkness and a cold bed. His first instinct is to panic. When a man Jesse's just met admits to being an assassin, and then disappears on Jesse without warning...well, all the good sex in the world ain't gonna stop Jesse from being slightly on guard.

 

"Good, you're awake," Hanzo reappears in the room, fully clothed and his arms full of even more fabric.

 

"Mmmmm," Jesse groans, stretching and wishing desperately for a smoke, "What's with the circus tent, shug?"

 

"I did not want to wake you, but I also didn't want to leave without doing so," Hanzo says, ignoring Jesse's comment entirely. He dumps the pile of clothes on the foot of the bed.

 

Jesse sits up. Hanzo doesn't let him stay there for long, he grabs Jesse's hand and pulls Jesse to his feet.

 

"Hanzo," Jesse whispers, trying to ensnare his lover's waist and pull him closer. Hanzo turns slippery as an eel, and instead Jesse finds himself being manhandled with a length of string. "Uhh....something else you need to tell me?"

 

"You cannot expect to continue to wear that cowboy outfit," Hanzo says cooly as he crouches down to measure Jesse's leg length, "I don't care if you aren't working, I need you to 'blend'."

 

Jesse tries to  _ not  _ concentrate on what level Hanzo's head is at. It doesn't work too well.

 

Hanzo shuffles through the clothes and selects a few. "Arms out," he instructs.

 

Jesse thought he'd be draped in cloth, but instead Hanzo lifts a narrow length of cloth and lays one end over Jesse's shoulder. Hanzo sweeps the cloth through Jesse's legs, brings it up between his butt, and wraps it around his waist.

 

"Hanzoooooo," Jesse groans.

 

"I figured you would not know how to do this on your own," Hanzo looks at him from under his brow, his mischievous expression back again, "Was I wrong?" He does something with the end of the cloth right above Jesse's ass, brushing against a whole bunch of extra sensitive nerve endings, that has Jesse straining the front end.

 

"No, not wrong," Jesse whines, "but don't think you left enough room down there, darlin."

 

"I didn't, but you fill it out nicely," Hanzo turns back to his work, satisfied. The cloth on Jesse's shoulder goes through Jesse's legs for a second time, and Hanzo wraps that part around the cloth already there, and then ties the whole thing against Jesse's hip.

 

"How are you able to dress me with a straight face?" Jesse shoots back, "You don't find this erotic?"

 

"Not particularly," Hanzo shrugs, completely unbothered, and directs Jesse to step his feet inside a loose but stiff pair of pants. An equally stiff white top goes on after that, with a belt, and then another top, and more pants, and Jesse loses counts of how many times Hanzo's warm, sturdy hands slide around Jesse's waist wrapping everything up like a present. "It will be more erotic if I get to be the one to watch you undress later," Hanzo smiles.

 

"I'd probably trip, or end up hogtying myself to a chair or somethin'," Jesse grumbles, "But if that's what you're into..."

 

Hanzo chuckles, "Would you find it erotic if I let you dress me in your cowboy gear?"

 

Jesse groans again, slaps a hand to his face and drags it through his hair, breathing deep, "Don't say these things, I'm trying to keep calm here. Now it's all I can do  _ not  _ to imagine you in rawhide and little else."

 

"You are an odd man, Jesse Mccree," Hanzo's eyes practically twinkle, and Jesse's pretty sure that hits him harder than anything involving chaps or leather.

 

Hanzo crosses the room and picks up Jesse's hat. "However," Hanzo says, "If we are to continue...this. I need you to not be associated with me, and thus a disguise. Plenty of samurai attend the theater while concealing their identity. You will simply be another anonymous face in the crowd." Hanzo puts the leather campaign hat on his own head, and Jesse's heart swells. Hanzo picks up a second hat, the kind Jesse's seen around on the locals, and walks back to situate it on Jesse. Jesse hopes this one doesn't fall off, because he's really not paying attention to how it goes on. All his attention centers on the man in front of him. Wearing his hat; Jesse’s hat.

 

"Hanzo, darlin, if you go out lookin’ like that, pretty sure you're going to be associated with me," Jesse says softly, leaning in.

 

Hanzo snorts, takes the campaign hat off his head, and shoves it into Jesse's chest, "We must go, or we'll be late." It pains Jesse to leave his precious hat lying on the bed, but Jesse supposes it's a small sacrifice to keep twenty two expert warriors off their trail.

 

This time at the theater Jesse gets to view the play from backstage.

 

The cast and crew are not fooled by his samurai disguise. As soon as Jesse lifts his head up, or opens his mouth, the charade is blown entirely. All’s good though because the theater people are mighty friendly, and rather indulgent in Hanzo's little affair.

 

"I don't think Hanzo has ever taken a lover," one of the older crew women, built like a work horse and able to lift any one of the seventeen trapdoors single handedly, confides in him with a wink, "Guess it's because you're the first cowboy to ever come wandering in here."

 

Jesse blushes and files that tidbit of information away for later consideration.

 

He and the woman become fast friends. Everyone calls her Okuni, though it seems to be something more of an inside joke than her actual name. When Jesse whispers to her that he 'can't sing or dance a lick', she whispers back 'me neither'. Instead of attempting to explain to him the subtle nuances of the dance, she shows him the wooden mechanics of the stage. In the coming weeks of his time spent at the playhouse, Jesse gradually learns how to work with the crew, and even starts receiving a modest daily payment in exchange. As he befriends the rest of the crew, he tries to ask about Okuni's real name, but 'one cannot say' and 'she killed a man' is all he can get out of them. Hanzo is even more closed mouthed about it, preferring to ignore the questions entirely and ply Jesse with distractions that leave him breathless, and wondering how a man who has never had a lover learns these things, like sensitive spots right on the inside of Jesse's gun hand.

 

Jesse keeps forgetting to ask about that.

 

Mostly though, because he doesn't want to know. At the end of the first day, when Hanzo approaches Jesse backstage, his stern actor visage breaks into a wide grin and he immediately links hands with Jesse. Hanzo steps in close, and looks for all the world like he's about to kiss him when they're rudely interrupted by the lead actor.

 

"You have a friend waiting for you in the tea house, Hanzo," he sounds jealous. The most popular actor in the theater, who claims all the hero roles, and he’s jealous of Hanzo.

 

Hanzo glances at the actor in confusion.

The other actor sniffs in disdain and leaves before offering any further explanation.

 

"Hanzo!" calls the Narrator next - Jesse really needs to learn names of the people besides the crew. The man strides buoyantly over to the pair, "Hanzo, you are becoming more sought after by the minute! Everyone wants to know what has the foreigner intrigued." He nods at Jesse in acknowledgement.

 

"You mean 'sides the fact that he's flawless," Jesse crosses his arms and scowls.

 

"Sought after..." Hanzo repeats. His hand finds Jesse's, linking them together again.

 

"Yes, we've got a very rich client who outbid everyone tonight. Hanzo, keep this up and this could be the start of a new life for you," the narrator says gleefully.

 

"  _ How  _ much?" Hanzo asks, shock evident in his voice. His hand slips from Jesse's, and Jesse is left to watch as the narrator takes Hanzo by the shoulders and leads him off.

 

Okuni comes up behind Jesse and pats him on the shoulder happily.

 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but there's two ways to win a courtesan's favor, right?" Jesse starts, "Offer the greatest riches. Or beat the other fucker to a pulp."

 

Okuni nods, "Though oftimes, not even riches are enough to sway someone's mind without proper conduct. This has happened before. Hanzo is very picky; he's never said yes."

 

"Yeah, no, I think I'm still gonna go with the fist fight option," Jesse decides.

 

Okuni laughs and wishes him good luck.

 

Jesse finds Hanzo sitting in the teahouse looking fairly cozy with a samurai Jesse has never seen at the theater before. The Samurai is an older man, with a beard that nearly rivals Hanzo's costume. He's distinguished and well dressed, exhibiting studied, precise care in every small movement he makes.

 

And makes Jesse feel like chopped liver.

 

Jesse slides down into a seat at the opposite end of the table, across from both Hanzo and the Samurai. "Howdy", he says, doffing his borrowed hat. He'd feel a heck of a lot more comfortable if it was plush leather instead of this stiff material, but he can improvise.

 

The Samurai raises a thick, artfully manicured brow. And does not look impressed.

 

"I don't exactly know the proper way of going about this, but I fought for this here actor's hand once, and I figure I can do it again," Jesse drawls, directing all of his bravado at the Samurai.

 

A hand covers Jesse's, and Hanzo stares daggers at him, "Jesse do not create a scene, please."

 

"’Fraid I don't know much about scenes, neither. Thought that was your job, sweetcheeks?" Jesse chortles good naturedly.

 

Hanzo looks fit to burst. Either in anger or laughter, Jesse can't tell. "On the contrary, you're enough of a ham for both of us," Hanzo retorts.

 

The Samurai brings his fist down on top of the table forcefully, and both Hanzo and Jesse retract their hands like embarrassed teenagers. Hanzo narrows his glare at the samurai in disgust. But the Samurai isn't watching the actor, he's watching Jesse. "It is beneath me to fight you, barbarian," the Samurai laughs.

 

"The only barbarians I've ever met are the ones who feast while others starve, and I don't see any of them 'round hereabouts," Jesse says, glancing to his right and left with exaggeration, "But I might be misinformed. How much money you got?"

 

Something Jesse said strikes a cord, because as always one minute he's sitting calmly, and the next he's flying through the air. He lands rather hard on his ass skidding across the floor. His back hits a door, and nearly goes through it. Strong hands grab him by his shirt and boot him outside. He slides in the dust and dirt, sitting up and letting his feet flop out in front of him. This is bringing back not so great memories of various bars in the Territories. At least there's no swinging doors to hit him in shame on his way out this time.

 

As Jesse regains his bearings, still seated casually on the ground, the Samurai appears in the doorway with great aplomb. He takes each little stair as if it's a golden carpet, his steps as heavy as the most resplendent king of England. Jesse looks up and realizes he's squinting in the sun. He feels the top of his head, "Damn, I've lost my hat again."

 

"You will regret this," the Samurai announces, and draws his sword. He begins to circle around Jesse.

 

"I don't got the right kinda draw for that, partner," Jesse admits, holding his hands up.

 

Hanzo appears in the threshold of the teahouse door, effortlessly looking far grander than the Samurai but far less pleased about the attention. He did not appear willingly, about a dozen hands pushed Hanzo through. He stands there awkwardly, clutching Jesse's lost hat. Hanzo's also taken off the fake beard around his face, perhaps to strangle Jesse with once this ‘scene’ is over. In contrast, the Narrator peeks behind Hanzo's shoulder, drinking in the street scene with glee.

 

Jesse stands and brushes the dust from his hands and ass, "Uh, can I borrow a sword...anyone?" He holds his hands out wide, scanning the gathering crowd of rubberneckers. And miraculously a heavy weight is pressed into it.

 

"Here. Idiot," Okuni mumbles before disappearing into the theater like a ghost.

 

Jesse grips the sword, and takes a few test swings. There's a soft crunch off to his side, and Jesse looks over to see Hanzo has crushed the wooden hat. Jesse is momentarily impressed by the strength it must've took to do that. But then he notices the fear in Hanzo's eyes. So he throws Hanzo a wink and a rakish grin, and settles into a fighting stance.

 

The Samurai attacks first, and Jesse immediately comes face to face with his own shortcomings. The fight does not last long. Jesse's feet go up in the air once more and a sword is at his throat. A guttural, cut off cry that sounds suspiciously like Hanzo comes from somewhere in the distance.

 

The old Samurai grins, "I knew you're moderate success the other night was a fluke," he says to Jesse, "Even a buffon gets lucky once in a while." The sword presses into Jesse's neck enough to draw blood. Jesse wonders if this is the point when he brings out Peacekeeper.

 

"I accept," a harsh, angry voice snaps from the crowd, "Spare his life and I accept." Hanzo steps into Jesse's field of vision, between the bright blue sky and the colorful buildings.

 

The sword disappears. "Very well," the Samurai agrees. He wipes the flat of his blade clean on Jesse's clothes, sheathes the sword, and returns inside the teahouse.

 

Hanzo stays, looking down at Jesse with bemused disappointment. He offers his hand.

 

Jesse grins and takes it, pulling himself up. He staggers closer into Hanzo's personal space and is grateful when the actor grasps Jesse's waist to steady him. Hanzo reaches up to dab a beautiful silk scarf at Jesse's wound tenderly.

 

"That old samurai gifted me this," Hanzo answers Jesse's unasked question with a wry smile.

 

Jesse leans closer still and presses his forehead to Hanzo's. He's pretty sure he won this round despite any claims to the contrary.

 

And he's pretty sure Hanzo is equally desperate to kiss him, and it nearly happens, until shouting begins from the next street over. They step apart to listen.

 

Jesse clears his throat, "I can't translate that particular word they're using there, but I know what it sounds like when the authorities are comin’."

 

As usual Hanzo is one step ahead of him. He drags Jesse closer to the wall of the teahouse, lifts the top off a barrel looking thing, and then picks Jesse up by his waist, and plops him in.

 

Jesse immediately finds himself submerged in water up to his chest.

 

Into the trough. Just like old times.

 

The opening in the top is quickly covered and a heavy weight leans against it, probably Hanzo. More voices join the half scattered crowd, and a particularly bored tone recites a litany of questions at Hanzo. Hanzo answers them all with harmless explanations and cool panache. When the voices disappear, Hanzo overturns the vat containing Jesse with his foot.

 

The water sloshes out and Jesse slides on his back into the dirt. Which is quickly turning to mud.

 

Hanzo crouches down next to him and sighs, "I'm going to have to buy you an entirely new wardrobe. Those will be recognizable in every corner of town this time tomorrow."

 

"God almighty, you're amazing," Jesse whispers up at him.

 

Hanzo laughs and drags him to his feet and into a kiss.

Jesse sleeps alone in Hanzo's bed that night. It's a little cold, but at least this time he has the whole space to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh valentines day is the WORST, but here, more story! Thank you for reading!! I would absolutely love some commentary or reviews or critiques or heck a valentine or two in the comments <3 love you all!! Also its looking like this will be six chapters and then a second part from hanzo's pov :D


	4. Act Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training montage

Jesse is in an unusually deep sleep, enjoying the comforting, indescribably dense smell of the blankets swathing him. He’s never not wanted to leave a bed before. Always up at dawn, always something needing doing. Jesse burrows deeper into the warmth, flopping a corner of the blanket over his head to block out the light. He pokes his nose out for an air hole, and falls back asleep. Until a freezing cold hand grabs his bare foot. Jesse howls. He rolls around, unable to detangle himself from the blankets, trying to get ready for a fight, berating himself for letting his guard down. He stops long enough to get a good look at Hanzo roaring with laughter.

 

"I did not intend to elicit that reaction," Hanzo says, wiping tears from his eyes.

 

"Fuck your hands," Jesse sputters.

 

"Literally?" Hanzo raises a brow.

 

Jesse groans and throws himself bodily back onto the bed. His arms are still trapped in the blanket burrito.

 

"Good morning. I brought you clothes," Hanzo says, "Get up and get dressed, or I will put them on...using my cold hands." He wiggles his fingers.

 

"That's a real mean threat," Jesse retorts, feeling inspired enough to wriggle backwards out of the blankets like a worm. When his head finally emerges, his hair ruffled and body contorted like a crab at the edge of the bed, he sees Hanzo watching him with the most affectionate - dare he say lovestruck - expression Jesse's ever received in all his thirty seven years.

 

"I'm glad you are still here," Hanzo says quietly.

 

"Where else would I be?" Jesse smiles affably.

 

"In fifteen minutes? The training studio," Hanzo states, "Hopefully," and throws the clothes in Jesse’s face for emphasis. He leaves the room, probably to make tea.

 

Jesse gets dressed in record time, considering. And steps into the other room just as Hanzo lifts a cup to his lips.

 

Tea goes everywhere.

 

"Hey, I tried," Jesse says sheepishly as Hanzo holds Jesse's face and kisses him, to prove his hands are no longer cold, and then fixes Jesse's outfit.

  
  


In the training studio, Jesse's ego takes another beating. There's a ritual for everything, and if Jesse gets even a small portion wrong he's made to do it again until he gets it right, and then do it twice more for good measure. Needless to say, he learns quick. For fear of facing extreme repetitive boredom, and Hanzo's perpetually amused smirk.

 

"Why are we doing this?" Jesse finally asks after the sixth time Hanzo berates him for not keeping his feet on separate rails.

 

"Because the next time you decide to fight someone over me, I want you to win," Hanzo replies, and uncurls Jesse's retracted fist, pinning the arm to Jesse's body for a brief second and then demanding Jesse repeat the punch, “Did no one teach you basic technique?”

“Hadn’t ever fought anybody hand to hand until I was in my twenties. And then it wasn't learning so much as experience, if you get what I mean,” Jesse confesses.

Hanzo, on the other hand, is trained. Hanzo’s basics were drilled into him starting from the age of four. At thirty eight, just on the edge of his prime, Hanzo’s body doesn’t even remember how to make mistakes. And it shows. Jesse isn’t ashamed to admit, he spends more of his time admiring Hanzo’s form than focusing on his own improvement. Hanzo seems to be simultaneously frustrated and amused by Jesse’s attentions.

 

Jesse feels particularly boorish again when they start partner work. And _as_ _always_ Jesse's feet end up in the air, his back on the ground. "Why don't _you_ just fight the guy?" Jesse suggests, making no effort to stand up. Hanzo drags him to his feet, and pats Jesse’s arm to signal Jesse should punch again.

 

Jesse doesn't even get the chance to overextend his punch again. Hanzo does some fancy footwork, grabs Jesse’s wrist, elbows jesse in the side, sweeps Jesse off his feet, twists Jesse around merely by leveraging what feels like might be Jesse's thumb, and leans over to murmur in Jesse's ear, "Too easy."

 

"Hon, you keep straddling me like that, and this is gonna turn into another kind of grappling real quick," Jesse retorts, voice only slightly muffled by the fact that his face is pressed into the squishy straw mats.

 

"Focus," Hanzo snaps, letting him up, "Again. This time, do not leave your arm out there hanging like a limp noodle for me to grab."

“I’ll tell you one thing that ain’t a limp noodle at the moment,” Jesse winks.

“You wouldn’t make it a day in my family,” Hanzo rolls his eyes, “And not for lack of talent. You have. no. discipline.” Each word is punctuated with another block of Jesse’s half hearted attacks.

 

But it is Hanzo in the next round who bends Jesse over, tumbles him to the ground, pins him down, and kisses him senseless. Both of them lose focus after that. Along with most of Jesse’s clothes. Jesse finally gets the upper hand on Hanzo when he breaks the kiss, slides down through Hanzo's legs, grabs Hanzo's butt, and presses his face right at the juncture between Hanzo's abdomen and thigh. Hanzo makes a noise like a soft whine and practically collapses on top of Jesse. Jesse catches him, gently rolls them both over, spreads Hanzo's legs, and starts detangling the many layers of cloth. Hanzo does most of the work by eagerly shifting everything on his waist to the right, and somehow Jesse's lips find skin through an opening, and then Jesse goes to town.

 

It’s a good thing Hanzo paid extra money to rent a private studio.

 

All for nothing though, because soon three armed men burst in on them unannounced.

 

Jesse's still licking Hanzo clean, and enjoying every second of it, especially Hanzo's strong grip on Jesse's hair, when Hanzo unexpectedly lets go and scrambles backwards to his feet. Jesse wipes his mouth on his arm and swallows. He then turns to the intruders, hand on his hip. "Hey, it's bad form to kill a man when he's butt naked!" Jesse gripes. He's about to saunter over, when Hanzo grabs his shoulder and shoves him behind a stack of practice mats. “I can take 'em," Jesse argues.

 

"Not when they have weapons and you don't," Hanzo says. They both can hear laughter from the three attackers, who seem to be waiting. Hanzo hesitates for a moment,  kisses Jesse hard, and then steps out to face the assassins.

 

"I ain't sitting here watchin' you die!" Jesse barks.

 

In that instant a slim whooshing sound draws everyone's attention followed by three distinct thuds. Hanzo, still standing guard in front of Jesse's hiding spot, isn't one of them. Jesse lifts himself up and peeks over the mats to look. All three attackers are on the floor, dead. Jesse swallows thickly, and decides to stay behind the mats. This is beyond his expertise and Peacekeeper is hidden inside his clothes on the opposite side of the room.

 

Hanzo walks across the mats, through the light of the window, as if immune. He crouches over one of the attackers and pulls the throwing star out of the man's jugular.

 

"Darlin," Jesse says, "How do you know that whoever got these guys isn't also trying to get you? Do you have multiple clans after you that you didn't tell me about? Does this training studio have some kinda security?"

 

"No," Hanzo serenely cleans each throwing star embedded in the attackers and pockets the weapons, "We should leave. Time to find a new place to practice."

 

"Yeah, I did get that mat a little messy," Jesse quips, standing over the spot where he had brought Hanzo to his knees.

 

"I believe that was my fault," Hanzo teases, watching Jesse put his clothes back on with pleasure.

“I started it,” Jesse retorts, “Even if it is  _ your  _ mess. I take full responsibility. With pride.”

Hanzo chuckles, and drags one of the dead bodies over to hide the wet stain.

They leave by the back entrance, though Hanzo seems convinced the danger has passed.

 

“So that's twenty seven from the night we met, and three now," Jesse counts on his fingers, "We're slowly picking these guys off."

 

"We?" Hanzo asks sarcastically.

 

"Hey, I killed at least twelve that first night," Jesse protests, "And you didn't even get to fight these three. Who did, by the way? Can you tell by those weapons? That why you kept them?"

 

"Yes," Hanzo sighs, "They're marked with the symbol of my clan.  _ Someone  _ remains loyal to me."

 

"Loyal, and also busy lookin’ through windows watchin' me get you off on the floor of a private training room," Jesse snorts.

 

Hanzo's back stiffens, "I...hadn't considered that."

 

"You are turning beet red, sweetpea," Jesse croons, entwining his hand with Hanzo's and leaning in close as they walk through the narrow alley.

 

"It is nothing they don't already know about me," Hanzo says, "I'm sure. I'm merely embarrassed about being caught..."

 

"With your pants down?" Jesse lowers his voice to 'sinful' levels.

 

Hanzo laughs, "I normally maintain more decorum than this. Something about you..." he shakes his head.

 

"At least you weren't the one bare assed naked as the day you were born," Jesse complains, hitching his pants higher around his waist.

 

"Yes, and you were not shy about that at all," Hanzo comments admirably, "I was concerned you would try to fight back in that state. Not that your confidence isn't deserved but..."

 

"But you have a habit of protectin' me," Jesse guides Hanzo closer to the wall and backs him up against it with a grin on his face, "I’ve noticed. I can take care of myself, you know. Been doing it a lot longer before you came 'round."

 

"But I fear, sometimes, you hold back-," Hanzo continues as if jesse isn’t trying to argue.

 

"I've won enough fights," Jesse says dismissively, “Don’t need to win more unless I  _ need  _ to.” Like when he has a handsome actor to impress.

 

"-you hold back even when the threat of danger is high," Hanzo accuses.

 

"Yes sir’ee mister 'I've got forty seven expert samurai after me but I ain't gonna put any effort into it unless I gotta protect a dumb hick', Jesse says.

 

"You are not dumb," Hanzo pulls Jesse into a deep kiss.

 

Another 'woosh' and 'thunk' and their makeout session is interrupted by a throwing star stuck in the wood next to Jesse's head. Jesse whirls around immediately, his hand going straight to his concealed gun. Hanzo merely yanks the star out of the building.

 

"That's not the assassins?" Jesse asks.

 

"No, that is a warning to me," Hanzo smiles fondly, "To stop being 'dumb’ in the middle of the street where we are vulnerable to ambush. I was..." he coughs "perhaps taking advantage of knowing that someone is watching my back."

 

"Okay, okay, no more public necking in open spaces. Got the message," Jesse says loudly to their disembodied protector, and gives a stern look towards the area he figures the star came from, and the two of them continue on their way.

Hanzo finds them a second training room on the highest floor of a building, with no windows and only a tiny door so they will not be disturbed.

 

It takes weeks of training for Jesse to improve enough to even hold a sword, let alone use it. The two of them fall into a routine, and Jesse still sleeps in Hanzo’s bed every night.  _ With  _ Hanzo, not alone. And between that and his newfound job backstage at the theater, Jesse begins to feel a little more settled than he is comfortable with. The borders of the world Hanzo confines himself to is very small, and not something Jesse is used to. Hanzo doesn't seem to notice his lover’s restless energy. Or if he does, he doesn’t bring it up.

 

"This is a lot more regimented than point and shoot," Jesse grumbles one day when Hanzo is correcting Jesse’s stance, and the tilt of his sword.

 

"You mean to tell me you never practiced with your gun?" Hanzo asks blandly, “You magically popped up one day, a born sharpshooter?”

 

"Pshaw," Jesse scoffs, "You know how expensive bullets and powder are? Practice happens when you miss shooting the thing that's gonna be your dinner. And a hungry stomach is  _ real  _ motivation to aim well. Those fish are fast. And them squirrels are no better." But it makes Jesse pause, and think. And remember the bow and arrow, the sling, and the many other childhood toys his mom gave him to improve his aim. "Well..." Jesse amends, "...maybe. Who taught you?"

 

"My father," Hanzo answers.

 

A heavy blanket of silence settles over them both. A friendly reminder of Hanzo's past out there. Lurking. Catching up.

 

"Demonstrate that sword move again," Jesse says, "I think it'll help if I get a visual."

He tries to pay closer attention this time.

 

Jesse's skills are put to test a few days later. Thanks to Hanzo’s sudden rise in fame and popularity, Hanzo is promoted to Soga Jûrô for the next run. It gives Jesse ample opportunities for practice of the the ‘hunting squirrel’ variety. That is to say, practical - hands on. Means beating rivals for Hanzo’s attention to a pulp. Meanwhile Hanzo looks on, proud. And afterward informs Jesse of every mistake he made during the fight and makes him learn the correct way to do it.

Jesse never does get a second chance at beating the old Samurai though, as much as he wants it. He brings it up with Hanzo the next time they get a dinner to themselves without interruption.

 

"You know, I never see that one guy around anymore. That big fan of yours, who tried to kill me with a sword?"

 

Hanzo stares at Jesse as if trying to recall something his brain can't quite reach. And then dawning realization, "Oh him."

 

"Yeah him, what happened to him?" Jesse asks, trying to stay casual.

 

"I poisoned him," Hanzo says equally casual, except his isn't faked.

 

"You what?!" Jesse chokes.

 

Hanzo looks up from his meal, "I'm an assassin, Jesse. Or did you forget about my 'night job'?" He smiles a predatory grin that would normally have Jesse squirming in his chair.

 

As it is, Jesse's speechless.

 

Hanzo sighs and puts down his chopsticks, "The man was in cohorts with those plotting against me. I suspected it from the minute I heard the absurd amount of money he spent on me. His entire retinue that night were part of my clan. I plied them with good food, and dancing, and poisoned them. There were...ten, I believe. Which means we have seven left."

 

"You did that..." Jesse says, "All on your own..."

 

"Not entirely. One other person made the food. A good cook, much better than I, who makes godlike snacks, impossible to resist. I just added the poison," Hanzo confirms, as if the quality of the food is the most interesting part of that anecdote.

 

Jesse considers this, and discards the information, focusing instead on something Hanzo mentioned before, "But what you're saying is...you can dance?"

 

"Yes, Jesse, I can dance."

 

"Gonna take you up on that offer one of these days."

 

"I wasn't offering."

 

"Gonna talk you into that offer one of these days."

 

"Hmmmmmmm."

 

And the conversation is over.

 

Most of Hanzo's would-be paramours are content with an intimate supper, and a fist fight in the street after Jesse arrives. Which generates even more public interest, and even more gawkers, and even more theater goers. The Narrator, who Jesse also has come to understand runs the theater, is thrilled. Their theater’s profits soar to twice that of the three official competitors.

  
But nobody expects the ninjas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! Please leave comments, critique, declarations of love or hate, and so forth and so on below. There's only two chapters of this left, and then a brief interlude with Gabe and Jack, and then an entire second part which is mostly roughed out now. More of the overwatch cast will be showing up in that one ^_^ 
> 
> but plspls continue giving me feedback, I need some incentive to post <3


	5. Act Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle and unexpected friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter!!! This took forever, I apologize! mostly because I quit editing it until I had finished a rough draft of the next 'prequel' part of this story. And after that is a 'sequel' set in the wild west, and im really glad i waited to post till I had the key parts of that written because it changed how much I wanted to reveal in the final chapters of this story. This is the first time I've tried to write a full story and then post instead of posting as I go, and it's worked out fairly well but anything longer than this and it'd probably drive me crazy, lol.
> 
>  
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to the lovely Ilyen (revolverwaffle on tumblr) who not only edited this in the first draft when it was all one piece, but then edited it AGAIN by chapter because I changed things and I get terribly nervous.
> 
> and again, apologies for my slow update schedule, life is very unstable at the moment and I've been fighting some pretty debilitating depression, and while this is very much an escape from that, there are also days I hate my writing and dont want anything to do with it. so yeah! please review ^_^ help me improve! it means the world

  
It happens before the play even really begins. Jesse's in the eaves, watching from a bird's eye view with Okuni because damned if he misses even once Hanzo’s grand entrance on the stage promenade. Ever since the director gave Hanzo the lead, more and more people have been showing up early for the first act, and they're awake. Instead of dozing in their seats, or conversing amongst themselves waiting for the good parts. Watching Hanzo is like...watching an art form be angrily reinvented into dramatic mourning of one's own death. It makes Jesse want to get poetical and maybe buy some penstemons and throw them on stage or something. He tried last week, went around all the flower markets asking for his favorite color of red. All he got was some strange little fruits and a lot of confusion for his trouble. Apparently penstemons don't grow in this neck of the woods but something called persimmons do. No way was Jesse throwing fruit at Hanzo, Jesse isn't that uncultured. So after work was done, he sat in the back alley on the stoop next to his boyfriend and they fed each other chunks of the delicate fruit.

Hanzo claims to enjoy the sweets better, and Jesse believes him, but if he could, Jesse would shower Hanzo with flower petals every day.

 

Unfortunately today Hanzo is upstaged by the group of actors playing enemy samurai who wait for him at the end of the walk. They steal the show because, frankly, their acting is terrible. Even Jesse can judge that. And he’s only paying half attention to them, too busy staring at Hanzo and imagining him lying naked on a bed of penstemons somewhere up in the high mountains of his sister’s native land. Not that Fareeha figures into the daydream at all, it's just that his idea of Hanzo seems to fit amongst fields of flowers on steep mountainsides, and those are the only ones Jesse knows.

 

A collective gasp redirects Jesse's attention to the stage as the enemy samurai fall into a formation so wrong even the cheap seats behind the backdrop pick up on the mistake.

Jesse squints, unable to see faces at this distance with all that makeup smeared on, but he's fairly sure he doesn't recognize anyone in the group onstage. Hanzo stops halfway along the promenade, in the wrong place. He clearly senses something is off, but he works it into the act because unlike the mystery group, he's good at what he does. Jesse holds his breath when Hanzo finally continues walking.   
  
Hanzo’s foot touches the main stage, and seven swords unsheath with a sharp ring. The instant the sound hits Jesse's ears, he knows those blades are real. And suddenly, Hanzo isn't acting, he's fighting for his life. Using his character’s shit prop sword against sharp weapons. No one is hitting their marks anymore, and the dialogue is forgotten entirely in the melee. But Hanzo’s mastery of his art form is clear to anyone watching. He holds back the seven samurai by the skin of his teeth, and his sword is a beautiful thing to see, flashing in the sunlight nearly directly overhead. Wondrous to behold, even if the prop sword is useless for any actual killing. 

 

The Narrator goes along with the change in plan, looking as if he desperately hopes the problem will solve itself. The man’s improvisational storytelling skills would impress Jesse, if it didn't also mean that Hanzo is on his own down there. With no obvious way out, and nobody knowing these men are trying to  _ actually kill _ Hanzo.   
  
"Shit," Jesse says, white knuckling the 'flying rig' support structure in his anxiety as Hanzo tries to vault over three men at once.   
  
Someone pries the cowboy’s hand off the wood and gives him a sword.   
  
Jesse stares at the sword, and then stares at Okuni. "Do you just...keep these lying around or something?"   
  
"Runs in the family," Okuni laughs, hooks something cold and metal to the back of Jesse's pants, and pushes him off the wooden beam.   
  
Jesse doesn't scream, he's proud of himself for that.   
  
But he does nearly wet his pants as he comes to a halt maybe three feet above the stage. A samurai comes at him with a sword, and Jesse leverages himself upright with the rope still attached painfully to his ass. Jesse spins to avoid the sword attack and sticks his leg out like a dancer. The centrifugal force and his body weight do all the work for him, slamming his foot into the samurai's face. Relieved, Jesse dangles precariously, his arms shaking from holding onto both the rope  _ and _ his sword.   
  
Hanzo stares at him in disbelief for half a second before he raises his own sword and slices the rope clean through, right before an enemy can slice through Jesse's neck. Jesse lands on his feet, and rolls forward with the momentum. The one thing his body has been trained to do automatically since birth; dodging out of the way. Not quite as impressive as Hanzo's artful movements, perhaps, but ultimately effective.   
  
"Just like the canyon cliffs back home," Jesse mutters under his breath with a smile, remembering death defying antics as a kid - daring each other to jump off higher and higher rocks. He stays in a crouch, trying to quickly assess his surroundings before joining the fray. Hanzo reappears at his side and the two of them fight back to back. At some point they switch weapons, Hanzo being much more capable with the real sword. Even with his training, Jesse’d probably be just as good with a stick.   
  
The audience loves it. They do not question why the climax of the play is happening in the first act, and instead begin shouting encouragement.   
  
"Do not spill blood on this stage," Hanzo instructs Jesse mid battle.   
  
"Is that like a metaphor thing, or like a literal we-can't-afford-to-clean-up-bloodstains kinda thing?" Jesse asks.   
  
"Both," Hanzo barks, "We lead them outside."   
  
"Got it," Jesse says, smooth as silk. He's about to make a run for the exit, when Hanzo stops him with a hand.   
  
"Wait," Hanzo looks to the open ceiling, "The roof."   
  
"Split up?" Jesse asks.   
  
Hanzo nods, "Split up."   
  
"Left or right?"   
  
"Left."   
  
"Your left or my left?"   
  
Hanzo pushes him in the correct direction. Jesse launches himself into a roll, hits the ground, and slides through the knees of the nearest enemy samurai. The attackers mostly ignore Jesse, choosing to follow Hanzo instead as the actor scales the nearest box seats.   
  
Jesse takes a running leap and hits the scaffolding like structure on the opposite side, and climbs. He almost makes the top when a knife digs a gash into his calf muscle. Jesse kicks at the knife and looks down. Two samurai have followed  _ him _ instead of Hanzo. Hastily swinging himself onto the roof peak, Jesse scrambles to his feet. He hops along the shingles. His balance is a heck of a lot better than he expected, but not good enough to fight well in this situation. Plus, his leg is bleeding.   
  
His first attacker lands on the roof in front of Jesse. The samurai's sword swings in an arc. Jesse ducks. And binds his leg tightly while he's down there.

His second attacker approaches from behind. Jesse can feel someone there without turning around. Years of living in the wild and expecting a mountain lion around every tree gives a man a sense about these things. 

The first samurai lunges, and Jesse retreats, using the flimsy fake sword to block the attacks. He stays on the defensive until the second samurai is nearly within reach behind Jesse’s back. The last swing Jesse deflects cracks the tip of his sword off. The wood beneath the paint splinters into a point. Without hesitation, Jesse swivels, and uses the element of surprise to shove his broken sword through the chest of the attacker from behind like a pike. The swords sinks in and sticks. Jesse doesn’t bother to yank it out because the samurai is still trying to hit Jesse even with a blunt, wooden sword projecting from the attacker’s chest. Instead Jesse leaves the sword in the body, and boots the entire bloody mess off the roof.   
  
Jesse backs up again, keeping just out of reach of the first samurai's sword. Jesse maintains eye contact, grinning. Never let anyone say Jesse is a fair fighter. ‘Cause he isn't. And doesn't ever plan to be.   
  
"Hanzo!" Jesse exclaims, faking surprised relief, loud enough for the attacker to hear but not loud enough that Hanzo himself across the way might. Jesse makes his eyes go wide, and focuses on a pretend savior right behind the attacker's shoulder. The samurai jerks around to check, quite justifiably more afraid of the very real, much more threatening, famed leader of their assassin clan than a cowboy. And quick as a flash, before the samurai can figure out no one is actually there, Jesse launches himself bodily at the man. He ends up clinging to the man's back, one hand clenched around the man's wrist holding the sword. Jesse disarms him using one of Hanzo's tricks. The samurai below him falters unsteadily, Jesse's weight knocks him off balance, and topples them over. They fall too fast, it's all Jesse can do to dig his spurs in and slow them down as both of them start to slide off the sloped roof.   
  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Jesse says as he realizes he's running out of shingles to slide down, with a dusty landing three stories below that looks mighty painful. He gets a better grip on the samurai still underneath him, probably unconscious, and snaps the man's neck. Jesse lets go just as they slide off the edge. The man falls, limp. Jesse shoots his hand out and grabs the gutter. He slams into the side of the wall, hard. But not hard enough that he can't drag himself back up. Climbing the sloped roof is exhausting. His breathing is labored and his leg protests with every step. Jesse's grateful for the extra hours of cardio he's been putting in lately with Hanzo.    
  
Jesse reaches the peak of the roof, pokes his head over, and holds on tight, still too tired to stand. Across the open air stage on the other roof, he can see Hanzo fighting gracefully on one rail, like a dance. The five enemy samurai have trapped him, three on one side and two on the other. Only the ones closest are actually engaging Hanzo in combat. The rest lie in wait. It's clear they're trying to slowly drain Hanzo’s energy and hinder his superior abilities. And after being forced to watch Hanzo's training regimen for weeks on end, Jesse can tell by the tiniest of errors Hanzo is making that it's working.   
  
On the other hand, no one involved is paying attention to Jesse. Too busy watching for their chance to jump into the fight. Jesse struggles to his feet.   
  
"Fuck this," Jesse mumbles, he digs through his clothes to find his gun wedged underneath his buttocks.

  
  
It takes him a few minutes.

  
  
But then, "It's high noon," Jesse says with unrestrained glee, because judging from the direction of the sun and lack of shadow, it actually is high noon, and he can hear the call of a rain bird, and somewhere in the dusty streets below rolls a tumbleweed, and just like that he's home, and warm, and nothing can stop him. Except he never gets the chance to draw because Hanzo does a backflip over the two samurai attacking him from behind, pulls a bow and arrow out of his ass somewhere, spreads his stance on the narrow roof peak, and yells.   
  
Hanzo glows. In a shimmery way, like the heat mirage that hovers over a dusty trail, as if Hanzo is a mirror reflecting the sun. The blue light on his tattooed arm burns through the costume covering it, until all that remains are fluttering tatters. The five samurai on the roof in front of hanzo stagger, as if blinded. And before they can recover, Hanzo releases his single arrow. The arrow shoots straight. Twin twisting dragons fly with it like deadly smoke signals. They tear clean through each samurai with a supernatural force. The samurai freeze in place, as if in shock that they're already dead. When they start to crumple to the ground, Hanzo charges forward. He knocks each one off the roof so they roll harmlessly down the shingles to the ground and not into the audience below. And then Hanzo stands perched on the roof, staring down at his work. And all Jesse can do is watch.   
  
Breathlessly.   
  
Like he's pretty sure he's finally found the only man alive who can best him in a fight. Another person with -well, he's not normally the type to use this word but if the shoe fits- magic.    
  
Hanzo finally turns toward Jesse, his chest heaving. They make eye contact. Hanzo looks surprised, possibly delirious. They share a silent conversation where Jesse tries to convey...something. He's hoping to hell it isn't love. If it's love, he's screwed.   
  
Hanzo runs around the perimeter of the building to Jesse's side of the roof. Better him than Jesse, because Jesse is decidedly unsteady on his feet right now. But Jesse opens his arms wide when Hanzo runs into them. Hanzo presses his head against Jesse's chest, like he's trying to hear Jesse’s heartbeat. And Jesse buries his face in Hanzo's hair, glad the elaborate wig fell off sometime during the battle.   
  
"I might not be a mathematician like you are but....that's the last of 'em, right?" Jesse asks in Hanzo's ear.   
  
Hanzo nods. His arms wrap around Jesse's waist tighter, and he squeezes, “I thought...I saw you fall…”

“It’d take a heck of a lot more than two men with pointy sticks to kill me,” Jesse drawls, “Say, perhaps one man. With one pointy stick. And two dragons?”

Hanzo groans, “You saw that.”

“I did. I get why I didn't scare you off that first night now. With my twelve kills from a six shooter. Been curious why you didn't ask about it,” Jesse can't help but chuckle, “So...about those dragons? Friends of yours?”

“I have not...they haven't answered my call in ten years. I thought they’d left me, as I had abandoned my family. I didn't...I don't,” Hanzo somehow manages to hold Jesse tighter, his voice almost inaudible with how close his face is pressed into Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse is amazed Hanzo can even hear himself think over the sound of Jesse’s heartbeat right there next to Hanzo’s ear.

Because Jesse’s heart is pounding a mile a minute and he doesn't know why.

“I thought I saw you die,” Hanzo whispers, “I was desperate, I needed to get to you as fast as I could, I needed to end the fight immediately. And they came. For you. As if...they recognized you, somehow. Knew you were worth protecting. For one brief second I could feel the dragons again...” Hanzo trails off, as if trying to capture a memory, and speaking it aloud would dissipate it, “But now they’re gone.”

“They recognized me?” Jesse says softly, hesitantly.

“Not exactly, I don't think,” Hanzo says, “That would be impossible. But...I care...for you. And they recognize that.”

A sharp intake of breath from Jesse, and he tries to nudge Hanzo’s face upward to look at him. Jesse is unable to say a word, a stupid smile stuck on his face.

Hanzo does look up, but by then he’s schooled his features into a stern visage, “The dragons knew how utterly defenseless you were. What were you thinking taking on two armed assassins with nothing but a prop sword? I expected you to leave the real fighting to me, and evade the rest. I don't like you walking around without a weapon to defend yourself…”

 

As Hanzo is talking, Jesse wiggles their arms down a bit so Hanzo’s hands come to rest right below Jesse’s hips. Hanzo unconsciously takes this in stride, palming Jesse’s ass comfortably and giving a loving squeeze.

 

And then squeezes again, and then pats Jesse's butt. And snakes his hand underneath Jesse's outer layers and digs in to find Jesse's gun. Which he pulls out. Hanzo leans back. "Really?" he's got that soft look in his eye again, shooting it straight into Jesse's heart.   
  
"I always come prepared," Jesse says, shifting his clothing straight around his hips again. He still misses his proper holster something awful. He grabs his gun back, shoves it down the front of his pants this time, hooking it into the belt. No need to hide it now.   
  
Hanzo laughs. Uproariously like he did that one morning when Jesse impersonated a worm. A beautiful sound, that.   
  
Which clues Jesse in on the other sound he's been hearing but relegating to the back of his mind; cheering. Loud, rapturous cheering from the middle of the theater. It brings him back to reality a little. Or rather, it reminds him that they are supposedly  _ pretending _ rather than actually fighting.   
  
"We better clean up the bodies before people start leaving," Jesse mumbles, "And see things they shouldn't. And start asking questions."   
  
"And before the police get here," Hanzo adds. He pulls Jesse back into another hug.   
  
"That too," Jesse agrees.   
  
But neither of them seem ready to leave. Jesse is afraid he’s clinging rather a lot. His hands don't want to unclench from Hanzo’s clothes, and his nose buried in Hanzo's hair definitely doesn't want to part from that smell. That distinctly Hanzo non-scent that can make the world feel right even when Jesse is perched three stories high above seven dead bodies and a live audience.   
  
"You're the actor, you gonna be the one to climb down stageside and handle the publicity?" Jesse asks, "I'm good with bodies.”   
  
"Very well," Hanzo agrees, sullenly. He nuzzles against Jesse’s chest and his grip  doesn't give an inch.

 

“Hey, Hanzo?” Jesse says.

 

“Hmm,” Hanzo hums reluctantly.

 

“You were spectacular,” Jesse whispers.

 

Hanzo releases Jesse, and steps back to smile at him, as if sharing an inside joke. He squeezes Jesse’s hand once, before he swings off the edge of the roof and climbs down.   
  
Jesse doesn't get to see how the play ends, he's a little sad about that because he's pretty sure it'll never end this way again. Hopefully Okuni will tell him later. When Jesse finishes cleaning up, and the crowd has filtered out leaving only the cast and crew, Jesse finds Hanzo and the Narrator still standing on stage.   
  
"Howdy," Jesse says, tipping his hat and swaggering over to Hanzo. Who immediately grabs his belt, and pulls him in for a quick kiss. Which Jesse turns into a heated kiss. Until they remember the Narrator standing shellshocked next to them.   
  
"I apologize," Hanzo says to the Narrator, "But I do not believe we did any lasting damage, the bodies are gone, and people will move on to the next scandal in several days."   
  
The Narrator huffs, staring balefully around at his quiet theater. "How..." he asks, looking positively wilted, "are we ever going to top that?"   
  
"Working on it," a voice says from beneath the stage. A newly formed trap door appears and Okuni climbs out, carrying paper and making notations, "Hanzo, how exactly  _ did _ you make those dragons?" There’s a strange teasing smile on her face.   
  
"Um," Hanzo swallows, "A trick of the light."   
  
At the same time Jesse says "mirrors."   
  
Okuni hums, clearly not believing them, mumbles something about lanterns, and continues walking. She climbs the scaffolding and disappears.   
  
The Narrator takes it in stride, but both Hanzo and Jesse turn to him in question.   
  
"Oh," the Narrator says, "Okuni? Our playwright? I thought it was common knowledge. Technically she maintains anonymity so if we produce something that rankles the higher ranks they won't know who to kill. Don't think anyone actually knows Okuni’s true name. We know something about a man she killed but..." he trails off.   
  
"That's..." Hanzo starts, then thinks better of it and stops himself, "Okay."   
  
"Good, well," the Narrator clasps them both on their backs, "I'll leave you two to clean up. Good show. Good show," and follows the playwright.   
  
"So," Jesse says, sliding his hand into Hanzo's and pitching his voice low, "What're you gonna do now? Now that you're free?"

Hanzo takes a few breaths before answering. He surveys the wreckage of the stage.   
  
"I'm coming with you," Hanzo says, squeezing Jesse’s hand, "When you leave Japan to follow the sun, I'll be there."   
  
Jesse stares, mind caught off guard and running blank. "Ah," Jesse falters, "Can't do that shug." Yet Jesse can't force himself to let go of Hanzo’s hand.   
  
"Why not?" Hanzo asks, genuinely baffled, “Our fighting styles compliment each other. We cohabitate well, even in cramped spaces such as my apartment. You seem to return my affections eagerly. Is there any reason we shouldn’t continue?”   
  
Jesse's got all kinds of reasons, many of them good. Lone wolf, too much a drifter, never loved anyone longer than a day, it ain't in his nature. He’s more enamored with the thrill of possibilities than reality. The excitement of the unknown, of anticipation, a feeling that never lasts so he’s constantly chasing it, something newer, something bigger. He's hesitant to relinquish that freedom, even for someone as...unprecedented as Hanzo. But looking into Hanzo's eyes, he thinks maybe those reasons were all pretense. And sure, maybe he never wants to settle, but maybe he's found someone who isn't gonna either. He's about to lean in towards the person who he's beginning to suspect will be the longest love of his life -

  
when the theater front door bursts open.   
  
"Hey, dumbass, you know how fucking easy it was to track you down in this shit village? You're getting sloppy, kid."   
  
"GABE!?"


	6. Act Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo decides to quit theater

Having his slightly bombastic mentor - who is supposed to be halfway around the world fighting a war - gatecrash his love confession was not something Jesse Mccree anticipated happening in his life. Hanzo immediately jumps to Jesse's defense. As Hanzo points out, Jesse being the lone foreigner living in Edo’s pleasure district, and probably the _only_ foreigner in Japan with a cowboy hat, plus a penchant for public make out sessions with _the_ _most_ controversial actor this month, makes it hard to hide.  
  
Gabe's eyes bug out when Hanzo mentions the public make out sessions.  


Jesse tries to explain.   
  
"You've been sleeping in the same bed for over two months????" Gabe asks, "You? Who wouldn’t even help your dear old dad out in Hawaii keeping those British and French military bullies in line longer than a few days?”   
  
Jesse turns red with embarrassment, Hanzo's eyes narrow.

“You ain’t my pa, and it was too cramped on such a tiny island,” Jesse argues.

“That’s why you skipped off to this  _ much _ bigger island with millions of people living in one city, huh?” Gabe says.   
  
"Awwww, Captain Reyes. Lay off," Jesse complains, feeling like a kid again, "I love him."   
  
Now  _ Hanzo's _ eyes bug out. And Jesse realizes what he's just said. For the first time. He's so screwed.   
  
"Whatever," Gabe says, "We'll bring him with us. We've got even bigger problems brewing in the Territories than Hawaii. We need you back, kid."    
  
"You're going back to the Territories?" it's Jesse's turn for a shock.   
  
"Yeah, Jack sent a letter," Gabe admits.   
  
"A letter?!?" Jesse repeats.   
  
"It was a very emotional appeal," Gabe says, getting defensive.   
  
"Cap’n, no way in hell can you talk shit about me 'n Hanzo when you clearly still got issues," Jesse argues.   
  
"Drop it, kid," Gabe says, "Point is, are you coming or not?"   
  
Jesse looks to Hanzo. Hanzo looks back.   
  
"Yeah, we're coming," Jesse says.   
  
"All right," Gabe slaps his knees and stands up, "Too much sap in here for me. The boat is on the northern dock. Berth eight or something like that. Ship hasn't changed, I trust you'll recognize it. See you in two days. No later, or we're shipping off without you." He waves real friendly-like before he retreats out the door.   
  
Jesse groans and slumps with his head in his hands. Hanzo places a gentle arm around his shoulder.

 

“Don't mind him,” Jesse says, “Gabe’s just angry at the world because he got royally screwed in love. Literally royally. His lover was some kind of British nobility. Good guy though. They both saved my life when I was a kid.”

“Saved your life?” Hanzo asks.

“Yeah, my real dad was an ass. Literally. He was a vagrant, living in donkey town at the foot of mom’s village. She took pity on him or something, but he didn’t last long without modern comforts,” Jesse says.

“Then he was not...literally...a donkey,” Hanzo confirms.

“No, just smelled like one,” Jesse quips, “He died, on some stinking French ship. Jack ‘n Gabe been checking up on me ever since.”

“You trust Gabe?”

“All my life,” Jesse says, resigned, “You see why I kinda have to come when he calls sometimes.”

Hanzo stands and pulls Jesse to his feet, "We still have two days."   
  
"And?"   
  
"And I'm pretty sure my career as an actor has peaked, and I won't be coming back to this theater again. Which means we've got two uninterrupted days, and the last time I've had that much free time available to spend with you was on that first night we met," Hanzo explains as he leads Jesse out of the theater.   
  
"That's where your mind goes, after all this? Gettin' me in bed?" Jesse fails to disguise his delight.   
  
"Where does yours go?" Hanzo asks.   
  
"I..." Jesse stops talking, "Good point."   
  
Jesse stumbles as they walk, his brain finally registering the pain in his leg wound. Jesse winces, pauses, and shakes the leg. Hanzo slides in next to him so Jesse can lean half his weight on him. Jesse hops them both around to stare at the large paneled theater facade spanning nearly the entire block. It’s lanterns still glow brilliantly, bathing their faces in a pinkish haze, like sunset. Jesse glances at his partner, expecting to see the same wistful look reflected back. But Hanzo isn’t even admiring the theater. Instead he’s making soppy eyes at Jesse, as if Jesse is the thing to be cherished instead.

Jesse laughs, “I get the feeling I’m more nostalgic about leaving this place than you are.”

Hanzo snaps out of his momentary emotional state. He turns surly, “You didn’t spend nearly ten years there.”

“Ten years,” Jesse lets out a low sweet whistle, “Don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place longer than five, and that was when I was a baby. Since then? Shoot, can’t be more than six months in one place,” He wraps his arms around Hanzo’s waist, “You sure you’re still coming with me? Not following the sun no more. How’d you know I was following the sun anyway?”

“You were headed continuously west,” Hanzo says, “It was a pretty safe bet.”

“Yeah, well, no sun is headed in the direction we’ll be going,” Jesse frowns.

“No need,” Hanzo grins, and he presses further up and into Jesse, “ _ You _ are my sun.”

Jesse snorts and folds around Hanzo, his body shaking in silent laughter. He smiles against Hanzo’s neck, “Naw, you’re the one born in the country where the sun  _ rises _ .”

“Where the sun rises is a matter of perception,” Hanzo argues. He wraps his arms around Jesse and presses closer.

“I’m perceiving something’ risin’ down there,” Jesse murmurs before capturing Hanzo’s lips in a kiss.

 

Making out in the middle of the street without worrying about dying is an indulgence Jesse could get accustomed to.

 

Unfortunately a loud ‘bang’ interrupts them and a large glowing green dragon looms down on them from the roof of the theater. Jesse yells in shock. Hanzo shoves Jesse behind him, which causes Jesse to lose his balance on his bad leg and fall on his ass in the dirt. Hanzo stands over Jesse, his bow out and arrow drawn, ready to guard his lover against the dragon. And then they both realize it’s just a bunch of artfully arranged lanterns with two luminous yellow eyes.

Jesse flops on his back, laughing too hard to sit up, until Hanzo, muttering about damned stage effects, drags Jesse to his feet. Hanzo slings an arm around Jesse’s waist and nudges Jesse to wrap his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder. Jesse’s still chuckling while they limp down the street towards Hanzo’s home. 

"Think there'll be a play about us?" Jesse asks, "I mean, we did kinda cause one of the biggest upheavals in the pleasure district with the star crossed romance and sword fights. Plus it ends with the two lovers disappearing overseas. The audience'd eat it up. We're sure as more exciting than that political figure who fell in love with a courtesan and caused a scandal last month."   
  
"Give it a week," Hanzo grumbles. He glances at Jesse, sizing him up, and his eyes glint in the reflection of the lantern dragon,  "Though I don't think they'll include your hat."   
  


  
  
  
  
_ In the theater the day after, while Hanzo and Jesse are in bed thoroughly enjoying their time off: _   
  
The Narrator stands on stage, inspecting every inch of his set. There's sword holes in the paper and notches in the wood. Hanzo and his cowboy didn't clean up anything last night, he's definitely docking their pay because of this. Maybe for a week. Or longer.   
  
"No lasting damages, my ass," the Narrator grumbles to himself, moving on to the next section of props. "Has anyone seen Hanzo today?" he calls out and gets a load of blank stares in return, "He's late. He better show up or he's fired." What else had Hanzo said? That the town gossip would move on quickly, and that all the bodies had been disposed of? The Narrator certainly  _ hoped _ the gossip didn't move on  _ too _ quickly, he needed to get as much revenue from this mess as possible to pay for repairs. But...bodies?   
  
The Narrator gasps, clutches his chest. Those weren't  _ real _ blood stains on the actor's clothes were they? It was just dye as always, wasn't it? Although, he does remember how poor the enemy samurai's acting skills were, and how he'd never seen their faces before, and... "Oh noooooo," his shoulders sag and he drops his paper in agony, "We're going to get sent another edict out of this, guaranteed."   
  
The Narrator pauses his inspection when he sees his lead actor sitting down at the edge of the stage, "What are you doing, you're supposed to be practicing. I don't care that you can't even do a backflip on normal ground, if Hanzo can backflip on a narrow ledge three stories above the audience's heads, you can certainly try it on this wooden beam a step off the ground, and you're going to keep trying until you land it successfully."   
  
An official sounding throat clear interrupts his conversation. He whirls around, puffing up his chest to confront the person. As anticipated, it's the police.   
  
"Official edict," the intruder says, handing over a scroll.   
  
The Narrator unfurls it with a glare and reads. "A roof?!" he complains, "A full covering over the stage has  _ always _ been optional. Need I remind you the danger of fire and performing in a darkened theater?"   
  
The official shrugs, takes the scroll back, rolls it up with a snap, and leaves.   
  
"You are nothing but a pawn in the institutionalized stifling of creative expression!" the Narrator yells at his back. He grumbles under his breath, wondering how long it's going to take him to build a roof. "No lasting damages, ha!" He returns his attention to the flailing actor trying to balance on the thin beam across the stage, "You have five days to practice that until we get a new roof. By then, it'd better be perfect!"   
  
This time he's interrupted by a stagehand. "Sir," the boy says, holding out a stack of paper, "From Okuni. With a note."   
  
The Narrator sighs, and scans a page, "Oh good, the new play. About a disgraced samurai and his country bumpkin lover. But..." he sees the note. He reads it, turns it over to see if there's anything more, and reads it again.   
  
"Fuck!" he barks in frustration, nearly throwing down the paper in anger, "She was our best one." He sighs again, and raises his hands and voice for attention, "All right, everyone. Who wants to be our next playwright? Anyone?" He doesn't wait for an answer, instead shoving the stack of paper back into the stagehand's arms. "Get that to the actors. Tell them to memorize it, we're opening in seven days." He retreats into the depths of the theater, hoping he forgot to take that bottle of sake home last week and it's still sitting in his secret hiding nook. He needs it. Now.   
  
"And where the  _ fuck  _ is Hanzo?" he yells, loud enough to be heard from all corners of the theater. Why does everything bad happen at once?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!!!!!!! Please tell me what you think, comments and critique mean the world to me <3 This chapter was slow in coming because guess what theres more! I finished the first draft of part 2: Hanzo goes to the wild west. Its about the same chapter length. I've tried to hit all the tropes in the book, there's square dancing and bar fights and shooting arrows on horseback, assless chaps and steamboats. Plus added more overwatch characters, Gabe, Ana, Fareeha, Sombra, Amelie, Genji....so that will be edited soon and I'll start sharing it! ^_^ Thank you thank you for following along with me in my first foray into overwatch fanfic!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!!!! This is my first time posting writing in years, mostly I just write and it lingers collecting dust, so I am slightly terrified. I have become obsessed with the whole mchanzo communituy and awesome fan works and omg, here I am trying to contribute, I hope you like it, thank you for reading! Please review!


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